


Not so much a Teen Wolf

by Auriette



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Camping, Drugs, Episode Related, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Juice - Freeform, Ketamine, Litte Scott goes camping and brings his own tent, M/M, Multi, Other, Parody, Romance, Scott McCall is a Good Friend, Scott is a Good Friend, Scott is a drug dealer, Scott is probably racist, Scott is the best friend ever, Sterek in later chapters, crack!fic, stiles is a werewolf, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auriette/pseuds/Auriette
Summary: What if Scott never went with Stiles into the Preserve to find half of a dead girls body? And what if he also was a Ketamine dealer in the making?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much @thisnewjoe for being such a wonderful Beta <3

It was the night right before the new school year began and Scott McCall, our average teenager with an average stature and intelligence - but poor health condition and uneven jaw, sat on his chair in front of his desk trying to repair his lacrosse stick. His neatly trimmed fingernails were digging into the small white rope while he was shoving it through holes, tightening the net he was creating. 

He couldn’t afford a new lacrosse stick like Jackson Whittemore, that rich jerk, who could afford everything he wanted, even the full service of one Patricia Hagelstein, a 49-year-old mother of 12 who sold her body on regular next to the K-Mart on Wednesday nights.

Maybe once his ketamine side-business would finally take off he’d be able to get more than a too-sweaty handjob next to a dumpster. But for now, that was what he had to settle with. All these last months he was ever so slowly draining Dr. Deaton’s ketamine supply without the vet noticing something gone missing. Once school started, he was back in business and hopefully swimming in money. And if he was smart enough with his investments he could even save up some to buy himself the motorbike he always wanted. 

Images of motorbikes—or dirt bikes, if he didn’t manage to save up enough money—passed through his mind, all while the latest teen rock/pop song was blasting through boxes of his unseen $10 radio. 

It didn’t take him long to get restless enough to get up and throw the half-finished lacrosse stick onto his bed to do his last training session for the summer. 

Like every other day of the past three months he did exactly three pull ups on the bar that hung in his door frame. Then he went on and finished his bedtime routine by brushing his teeth and taking some extra time to wash his face. 

He was what one would call the average American boy; always being nice and smelling nice. As a teenager, Scott spent lots of his time in his bathroom, but let me assure you, that was not due to his hyperactive hormones - the bathroom door stayed open, most of the days. 

So washing his face and taking an intense look into his mirror to inspect himself wasn’t unusual for the not-self-absorbed-just-thoroughly-checking-his-face teenager. 

But a rustling sound made him turn around. Something was going on outside, he could hear it. Dismissing any thoughts of natural wildlife being outside making noise, he took the bat from somewhere in his house and went out to his porch, but nothing was to be seen. 

Up until the point were a boy suddenly hung upside down from his roof.

“Stiles! What the hell you doing!” he screamed in the face of his best friend who was still hanging from his roof screaming at him in shock. After all, Scott had almost hit his head with a baseball bat. 

After they had calmed down a bit Stiles told him the reason why he came over that late. There was a body—not a body of water, he had to explain to Scott—in the preserve, or half of it. And Stiles’ dad, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, had been called in to investigate.

And now, Stiles wanted them to go looking for the body. 

“Stiles, I can’t! Tomorrow are the lacrosse tryouts, you know that.” he said, looking intensely at his best friend. “You know how badly I want to be in the first line. I trained all summer for it! Look, i even got abs!” he shoved his shirt up a bit so Stiles could take a peek at his new-found stomach muscles. 

Stiles whistled approvingly, then let himself fall ungracefully down the roof to be standing head to head to Scott now. “Some nice abs you have there, Scott!” he said, reaching for the other teen, but Scott swatted his grabby hands away. “No touchy Stiles, you know I don’t swing that way!” 

Stiles let his hand and head fall. “I know buddy, i know.” he said a sudden sadness in his voice. “So you not coming?” 

“Sorry bro,” Scott reached out and patted him on the shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Stiles sighed. It was what it was, once Scott had made up his mind there was no way around it. “Ok, see you then.” 

Scott took his bat, which he had set down on the ground while Stiles fell of the roof, and went back inside. 

“Pffuuh, this was some stress,” he said to himself putting the bat away and walking in his room. “I better go to bed now if I want to be up early for my last three pull-ups before I head to school.” He turned off the light and went to bed. 

Sleep came easy for our exhausted teenager and if another sound ripped over the heads of the trees next to his house, he wasn’t hearing it that night. Or any of the following nights. 

Then our average teenager, with his poor health and uneven jaw, was deep asleep and would never get to know the wonders that lay hidden deep in the preserve. 

He also would never make it into first line for lacrosse. He tried, he really did but his asthma made it impossible for him to run more than a quarter of a mile before he collapsed fighting for air. If only he hadn’t sold his inhaler for a handjob from Patricia he would be still alive to this day. 

He would have seen all the awesome things his former best friend Stiles could do now that he was a werewolf and had a pack - a new family - who fought alongside a banshee and a kitsune to keep Beacon Hills a safe place for future generations. 

Or, so could have ended the story of Scott McCall if it weren’t for Greenberg. For some reason unknown to the writer of this story, they produced an asthma inhaler out of thin air and saved Scott’s exactly on his last forceful breath. 

Thanks to them, we can now follow Scott McCall’s journey of becoming the next big drug lord of Beacon Hills High School in the following chapters.


	2. Got Juice?

It’s been over two weeks since Scott has last set a foot at School ground but now he was back and better than ever. Or simply as miserable as he was before he landed himself in the hospital. 

With his backpack full of school books, foods and his daily supply of ketamine he hoped to get sold in between classes he stepped out the bus and walked over to the parking lot. 

So far, he hadn’t put much thought into his business but he hoped for a spontaneous inspiration coming to him as soon as he’d pass the stoners. 

“Hey Scotty, my friend, my long lost brother!” Stiles rushed towards him stopping at arms length and pulling him into a bear hug. Since when was he so strong? Scott wondered as he tried to take in a breath through his almost punctured lung. “Pffft! Sti-les! Air!” he tried to press words through his thin and slowly bluing lips making Stiles aware of his lack of oxygen. 

“Sorry sorry, buddy, this whole werewolf thing is still new to me” Stiles let him go abruptly laughing awkwardly and scratching the back of his head. “I keep forgetting what I can do now, really, I’m so sorry bro!” he patted Scotts shoulder, again harder than intended. But Scott simply brushed it off. His mind wasn’t paying attention anyway. 

His eyes were fixed on something else, taking all his concentration away from his best friend. 

“Hmmh, yeah.” he hummed absentmindedly in Stiles direction while all his blood went a few floors down, for a little camping trip on its own. 

It was as if the hormone filled crowd of teenagers had drifted apart, almost as if Moses himself had separated them like he once did with the the red sea. 

Her shoulder length brown hair waved in the wind as Jonathan, president of the BH HS chess club passed her with a full blowing fan. She simply stood still, eyes closed and moving her head from left to right, chin high in the air. And it was as if he’d suddenly fallen into a chick flick. Him the drooling prince charming and she the new girl who would fall to her knees to- oh, oh that would be little Scott taking over, way down from the campside. 

 

And that was it. Scott was head over non-existing heels. Though he should have worn some, or he wouldn’t have looked like a dwarf next to his wife-to-be. 

“And this is how I got bitten. Can you imagine it? I’m a werewolf now, Derek explained it all!” Stiles ended his monologue looking excited at his friend expecting at least a dozen of questions. 

But Scott stayed quiet not even noticing that Stiles still stood next to him. After a minute of waving his hands in front of his face, all while Stiles finally understood how stupid any flight attendant must feel, he gave up and hit his best friend against his chest. 

“Hey dude! Stop looking at that girl like that!” he said once he noticed who his friend was staring at exactly. "Do you even know how gross it is to know exactly how horny you are right now? Jeesus, you're going to need a bathing suit for all that cock-dribble you're producing..."

“Ouch! What was that for?” Scott rubbed his hand against his chest, right where Stiles had hit him. He could have sworn that the other wasn’t this strong before but he had to put that thought at the back of his mind for now, he had business to talk. 

“You know what?” he asked his taller friend, linking their arms together so Stiles had to bend down so they could talk in private. “I have the perfect plan! Remember how you always talk about your 5 year plan to woo Lydia Martin?” he asked, eyebrows raised in excitement. “I will get that girl -” he pointed vaguely in the direction where she had stood a few minutes ago, “to become my girlfriend in only one week!” 

Stiles couldn’t hold on his laughter. It simply overtook his whole body, shaking it and making his eyes all teary. “One week? No way Scott. Maybe as Lacrosse Captain but with your severe asthma you are not even able to be their waterboy!” 

“Ah, Lacrosse, don’t remind me! But anyhow, you know how i always wanted to sell the Ketamine from Deatons clinic? I finally got enough together to start my business. And once I have enough money, I will buy me a motorbike!” he whispered with such excitement that Stiles was still for a moment. 

“Dude!” Stiles pulled his arm free and stepped a few feets away. “You really shouldn’t do that!” He was shocked that his friend would even consider such a drastic step. 

“Why not?” asked Scott in confusion. This was such a good plan! Once he had the bike, she would fall for him as hard as he still was for her. Damn teenage hormones! He really wished he’d worn tighter pants today, this tent was ridiculous to walk around in. 

“Isn’t it,” Stiles stepped into Scotts personal space again, looking almost conspiratorially, “racist?” 

“Racist!” Scott repeated so loudly that people around him started to notice these two guys who still stood in the middle School’s parking lot. 

Annoyed at the nosey people Scott waved them away before paying Stiles attention again. 

“You know, stealing from a black man, making him look stupid! Which adult would be so stupid not to notice a teenager stealing his Ketamine? Also, you are latino, man! Way to play into that well known stereotype!” Stiles explained slowly so Scott would hopefully understand what he was telling him and how problematic his own actions would be to all his fellow latinos out in the world. 

“I’m latino? But I thought my parents were Italian?” 

All Stiles could do was hit his face with his left hand, repeatingly. 

“So did they, Scotty, so did they.” 

Before Scott could reply the bell rang for the first time, announcing the start of the school day and without any other word, Scott and Stiles hurried inside and to their classes. 

Scott sat in class trying come up with a plan to sell his Ketamine and failing. Plans really weren’t his strength but Stiles refused to help him. He vaguely remembered Stiles speaking about a werewolf codex or something. Whatever it was, Scott wasn’t interested in Stiles strange hobbies, comics, supernatural tv shows or stupid codexes he got from them. 

He had more important things to deal with, he needed to get a motorbike and that girl he saw earlier today. She was the most beautiful girl in the world and he had to have her. No matter the cost. And if Stiles wasn’t going to help him, he had to get up with a plan. 

It took Scott all school day to come up with even the slightest idea of a plan and once the bell rang to announce the end of his last class, he stormed out of his class room and slowly walked towards the locker rooms. Sadly, running was out of option for him ever since he had his last athma attack on the Lacrosse Field two weeks ago. 

Just as he was about to turn the corner, someone grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. The “Vote Lulu Moon for Class President” was torn from the wall on impact, and her ever-smiling face now looked at him in disappointment, head hanging upside down.

"Where do you get your juice?" Jacksons face was mere inches away from his own, his mouth spitting warm drops onto Scotts skin like rain shower in spring. 

“Uh, dude, watch out with that spit of yours!” disgusted Scott wiped it from his face as Jackson backed up a bit trying to cover up his embarrassment by looking even more intimidating. 

“Watch it, McCall or I rip you another one! Now tell me, where do you get your juice!” 

“What juice?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” 

Jackson’s mood went downhill fast and he started pacing in front of Scott. “Don’t play any games now. I saw you had it on the try outs and when you were leaving Deatons Clinic.” he came to a halt in front of Scott again, finger pointing directly at the others chest. 

“Tell me where you got it, and I leave you alone. If not,” he poked his finger firmly against Scotts sternum making him squeal out in sudden pain, “I find a way to make your life hell!” 

Scotts brain worked slow on good days and this was definitely not one of them. First the almost damaging blood loss this morning only making it worse by having to come up with a plan of his own to sell his ketamine… - Ketamine! He would have slapped his own head if Jackson wouldn’t prevent him from moving. 

That had to be the “juice” Jackson was talking about.

Now that he had the upper hand again he took all the courage he could muster to shoved Jackson a few feet away. “I get you what you want, no need to harass me.” he snapped and moved around the corner into a quieter place. He may not be the smartest person but even he knew not to deal out in the open. 

If nothing else, Breaking Bad had taught him that much. 

“Here,” Scott opened his bag and pulled out his supply on Ketamine to show Jackson just as a door opens behind him and shoved him to the ground for a second time that day. 

“McCALL!” a familiar voice roared through the halls of Beacon Hills High School. 

“NEVER IN MY LIFE HAVE I SEEN A STUDENT SO STUPID! DEALING RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY OFFICE?” His lacrosse coach stood above him looking huge like a tower from all the way down on the ground. All Scott could do was watch him with racing heart and a mouth wide open, the ketamine scattered around him on full display. 

“YOU! ARE! OFF! THE! TEAM! I don’t want you even as a BENCHWARMER!” His red face was the last thing Scott saw, before he closed his eyes in embarrassment. There went his dream of being on the bench and maybe on the field someday again. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jackson spit at him again. 

“I just wanted to know where you buy your Orange Juice! Drugs? I don’t believe it!” he said shaking his head and leaving still talking to himself about his reputation and that it better not be damaged. Buying drugs from someone like McCall, laughable, nobody would believe such a stupid story anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to pumpki3 for being my beta for this chapter! <3

Scott laid on his bed and throwing a lacrosse ball against his ceiling in frustration. 

He hadn’t left his room in two days. He was suspended from school for a couple of weeks. It was a welcome change from his first day of school, for the first couple of hours but once he had caught up on the Dora the Explorer episodes he missed the day before, his thoughts traveled back to how unfair his life was right now. 

Why did nobody listen when he tried to explain? He was no drug dealer. Sure, he tried to sell drugs in school but that was only to buy a bike to impress Alison, the Schools NEW GIRL! He didn’t actually care about drugs or people who took them, why wouldn’t they just understand? 

And to make his life even more miserable he was now off his beloved lacrosse team too. No longer warming the bench in hope some player would injure himself badly enough they needed him to take his place for the last minute. 

He was so stuck in his self pity, that the ball he’d thrown seconds before fell down without him noticing. So, instead of catching it with his hand, it was his forehead that stopped its fall this time. If Scott had been a werewolf, his healing would have kicked in only seconds after the impact. As it was, the ball left a bright red mark on his forehead. And a dent. 

“Ouch,” he howled just like a normal human would, “now you are against me too, huh?” He rubbed his forehead thinking very hard about how unfair his life was, as a sudden uneasy feeling popped up behind his chest. 

He turned around on his stomach and looked at his calender on the wall. 

Right, today he should have been working for Deaton. His weekly shifts were still on his calendar. His mom had written them down for him each month, so he wouldn’t forget them. Like he usually would with everything that he didn’t find important enough to remember. 

But ever since he found out he had stolen the ketamine, Scott was without a job and a mentor. Deaton, as calm and zen he usually was, wasn’t happy to find out that his one protegee and kind-of-son-but-only-placeholder for his own offspring- would betray him like that. 

No matter how often Scott tried to explain him the situation about the Dirt Bike and how Alison was now at their School, he just wouldn’t listen. 

So, when his Mom brought him the Beacon Hills Today this morning, together with a pair of scissors and a new frame, it had hurt a little to see himself arm in arm with his former mentor on the first page. 

“It’s not the article I hoped for,” Melissa had said, “but at least your Godfather will finally stop nagging me about you stepping up in the family business now that we’ll use this article as our christmas cards.” She sighed deeply and left his room again. 

 

“Beacon Hills - Hate Crime - Local teen steals and sells drugs as a racist act against himself and member of our community” read Scott out loud, wondering who they were talking about and why they used a picture of him and Deaton standing arm in arm together. 

A bit further down were “10 common signs your child is a racist and hates himself” followed by “5 signs your child is a secret drug dealer” and on page 7 was another article and an exclusive interview by the mother of the offender. 

All in all, it was a nice representation of Beacon Hills latest crime, if we were to ignore the sudden increase in wildlife attacks just like Scott did. Sure he knew Stiles was suddenly very much interested in it, as they were able to skype for a couple of minutes yesterday, before his Dad found out and took his laptop away. But Scott couldn’t care less about Lydia and Jackson being attacked by a mountain lion in the video store. He was just glad Alison wasn’t with them. And that was all that mattered. 

Just as he was about to deepen his thoughts about Alison, and let his mind and hand wander further south, the doorbell rang and Melissa entered Scotts room only seconds after. 

The bowl of freshly made pasta in her one hand, the kitchen towel in the colors for the italian flag in the other, and the t-shirt of the movie “The Godfather” she wore were underlining her heritage in such a subtle way, it took Scott a moment to realize she wasn’t half american-mexican like him. 

“Stiles is downstairs with your homework. Hurry and don’t make it long, you know you are not allowed to see anybody.” She said, before turning around to go back to the kitchen to finish off her deliciously smelling pasta sauce - made from scratch just like her nonna had taught her - humming the title song of the miracoli advertisement under her breath. 

Scott hurried down the stairs, one step at a time, hand gripping the handle in a death grip. You never know when death will knock on your door and he sure wasn’t inviting it again.   
And it only took him 10 minutes longer than usual to get down the stairs, which wasn’t a big deal for anyone, as Scott was known for being “a bit slow”. 

Why people would call him that since his kindergarten was still a miracle for him, as he remembered being as fast as the other kids. At least it always got him special attention, and extra time to finish his homework, that was nice.

Stiles was on his phone when Scott finally reached him. 

“Scott is here, I have to hang up. Yeah you can come over, just, try to use the door this time.” he hushed conspiratorial into his phone but Scott couldn’t care less. 

“Stiles, you are a lifesaver! I need to know everything! What did she wear? Did she smell nice? Does she miss me as much as I miss her? How does she look? What did she say when she heard about-!” 

“Bro, slow down, what are you even talking about?” Stiles asked even more confused than usual. 

“The lady of my dreams, the love of my life, Stiles, keep up! You’ve seen her! In School, remember? She’s got the prettiest smile and these long brown locks and her body…” Scott’s words trailed off at the same time as his blood started to wander south again. 

“Uhm, hmmh, yeah you … mean Alison? Yeah, she’s, uhm, nice?” Stiles scratched his neck, being uncomfortable with Scott’s amount of open mouth drooling and obvious tent in is pants. 

“Dude, you got something there you better-” Stiles rummages through his backpack trying to find the homework - “take care of, uhm,” he found the folder and shoved it at his still drooling friend. 

“I have to go now, I’m not allowed to be here anyway, you know, because of the-” Stiles stopped again for a second, still avoiding to look at Scotts crotch area even though it tried to poke him in the eye as it grew even bigger. 

(Not even the author knows how that is possible) 

“The whole ketamine thing and yeah, you know, my Dad being the Sheriff and all. Sorry bro, but I can’t be seen with you now.” he stepped back, closed his backpack and left the house in a never seen before hurry just to run back just as fast. “Oh, and uhm, one more thing, be careful, ok? There are a lot of dangerous, … mountain lions around lately and yeah, just, take care, ok?” 

That part of Scott’s brain that wasn’t occupied with the blood flow a few regions further down, made it an effort to remember Stiles recent interest in wild animals. It was filed away right next to the idea to get him a peta membership for his next birthday. Nobody would be able to say he wasn’t paying attention to his friends with this perfect gift. 

When the wind took up and closed the front door on its own, the howl of a wolf nearby scaring the neighbors dogs into action, Scott, the bestest friend ever, was again left alone with a wet spot in his pants as his mother called “Dinner is ready!”.


End file.
